Eye of the Beholder
by Alcarinquatari
Summary: Finally updated! --Homebound: Kid is missing, Shinigami realizes something. Shinigami, Kid, appearances from Spirit. Not incest.
1. Eye of the Beholder

**A/N: **Wow, I've been on a long hiatus! But, I'm back now (hopefully), and definitely better than I was. I've got a crapload of ideas for not just Soul Eater, an absolutely amazing show, and hope I can manage to finish them like this one. This is a series of oneshots I'm going to be writing for Shinigami-sama and Kid, and eventually there is going to a hundred of these suckers. Oh joy. Anyway, I love the father-son relationship between Kid and Shinigami and since canon hasn't given me nearly enough of these two, I'm going to make up my whole own. This is dedicated to astriaseeker/lmd_84, who is currently writing me the most amazing fic ever (which also happens to be about Shinigami and Kid, hee), as a way to hopefully return the favor a bit. Read her fics! They're absolutely amazing! Anyway, enough of my rambling. Thank you again, lmd, you're amazing! Please, enjoy!

**Eye of the Beholder **

Summary: Kid hasn't always been obsessed with symmetry. A tiny Kid, jealously, a mask, and a loving father will change that. [Kid, Shinigami, mentions of Maka and Spirit, no pairings]

**1. Addict **

"Father?" Kid intones quietly, his voice so feathery soft that Shinigami almost doesn't hear him.

"Hm?" Shinigami turns to face his son completely, masked eyes furrowing in slight concern. When Kid makes no move to answer him, Shinigami shuffles over to where his small toddler is reading a thick volume on some ancient philosopher he's never heard of, and kneels before him silently, his abysmal eyes seeking Kid's own.

"Father," he says at last, in a tone so stern that Shinigami can't help but feel as though their roles have been reversed.

"Yes?"

"Show me."

. . . Well, that hadn't quite been what Shinigami had expected his tiny prodigy to say, and he can't but wonder if that's a good or bad thing.

"Show you what, Kid?" Shinigami asks, clapping his large hands together gleefully in an attempt to lighten his child's mood.

Kid gave an irritated huff before replying, as though it had been obvious all along, "Your face, father. I want to see your face." Before Shinigami could utter a word, Kid interjected quickly, "Your _real _face."

Behind his mask, Shinigami smiles. His son was so unbelievably cute sometimes. Amused, Shinigami asks, voice even, "And why do you want to know that, son?"

The scandalized expression that crosses his son's face, lighting his cheeks with a charming cherry hue, nearly destroys Shinigami's collected façade. His son really is far too hilarious for his own good. Reining in his laughter, Shinigami repeats, a little more firmly, "Why do you want to know, Kid?"

"Well, that's—It's just that—" Kid stammers, cheeks getting redder with each passing second.

Shinigami could barely conceal the laughter building within him. It was times like this that made him infinitely grateful to the fact that he always kept his face hidden behind a mask. After all, if he didn't, what fun could he have in torturing his adorable son?

Lost in inner musings, Shinigami couldn't help but be taken a bit aback when Kid all but screams in his face, more flustered than he's ever seen him, "I want to see father's beautiful face, too!"

Shinigami blinks, slowly registering what his child is saying to him. He smirks beneath his mask, not making a single move as he waits to see what Kid will do next. "Oh?" he coos though, amusement he can no longer repress seeping into his voice. "How do you know it is beautiful, Kid?" he teases, curiosity getting the better of him. Just where had Kid gotten this sudden desire to see his face, anyway?

"Maka said so!" Kid hisses, his shoulders slumping forward slightly as he lowered his head to hide his flushed cheeks from his father's searching gaze. "Why has she seen it, father? I'm—I'm your son, father, and I haven't even seen it! Why, father?" Kid whispers brokenly and all amusement flees from Shinigami immediately as he realizes his little Kid is _crying. _

"Kid," he murmurs, regretful for dragging on this little game as long as he had. He knew how fragile Kid's feelings were and should have known what his grim mood had been signaling. Removing the playful skull mask from his face, Shinigami sets it down on the floor next to him, shrugging his jagged black robe off so that his long black hair is free to tumble down his back for the first time in a long time. Placing a comforting smile on his face, Shinigami hooks his pointer and middle fingers under his son's quivering chin, forcing his son to make eye contact with him.

Startled, Kid stiffens at the clawed fingers that grab his chin, so velvety soft that Kid wonders briefly for a moment if his father has left him to cry and Marie—with her sweet smiles and gentle touches—has come to comfort him. He blinks ferociously at his tear-filled eyes, trying in vain to see the blurriness. "Kid," he hears a voice whisper, low and silky, and he is quite certain it is _not _Marie's.

"Wh—?" But he can't finish because the sight that greets him is so breathtaking that it nearly moves him to tears once more.

Two glittering orbs of liquid gold are staring back at him, so soft and filled with love that he wonders if they're really even there. The face they belong to tilts slightly, fine ebony strands drawing about them like curtains, ghosting over smooth alabaster skin as his head stills. Kid's eyes graze over the ethereal face slowly, moving upwards until his eyes lock on three complete white stripes painted upon otherwise jet black hair.

"F, father?" he rasps, letting out a breath he didn't even realize he had been holding.

"Yes?" Shinigami whispers in turn, his sharp claws dancing across Kid's cheek as he proceeded to wipe away the tears slipping down his cheeks.

Kid's cheeks burn scarlet again, though it was for a reason entirely different from anger.

"What's wrong, Kid?"

Blinking in quick succession, Kid shakes his head vehemently. "Nothing, father! It's just—" His tiny face lightingt up in a tiny smile, cheeks still crimson. "You showed me."

Shinigami let out a small chuckle as he caught his son up in a tight hug, the long forgotten book tumbling unnoticed from Kid's lap. "But of course! It's not as though I was hiding it from you, Kid!"

Kid let out a defensive grunt, crossing his arms stubbornly like the child he was. "But you always wear a mask, even around home, father!"

Shinigami thought about it a moment. "I guess I'm just used to it, that's all. I always wear my mask, Kid, at both home and work."

Kid scrutinizes his father deliberately, before mumbling in a tone Shinigami could only describe as envy, "So why has Maka seen it?"

"Maka-chan?" Shinigami repeated, not entirely sure himself. "I don't know, myself. . . Hmm . . ." Recalling a certain incident he had never wanted to , Shinigami sighed, letting out a small laugh as he did. "I remember now," he informs Kid, and Kid almost gets the impression that his insufferable and always jolly father is _sulking. _

"What, father?" he asks persistently, gripping his father's robe earnestly. The question had been haunting him for days now and now he would finally, at long last, have his answer!

"Well, Kid, you see," Shinigami starts, not really wanting to go into full detail, "let's just say that Spirit-kun managed to get a picture of my real face after a rather . . . awkward incident." _That _was putting it mildly, in Shinigami's opinion. His weapon was such an idiot sometimes . . .

"Awkward?" Kid reiterates, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at his father. "What do you mean—?"

"Are you happy now, Kid?" Shinigami asks suddenly, halting Kid's interrogation.

Kid blinks, wrapping his arms about his father's neck as he stares at his father's full figure in the mirror in front of him. He smiles slightly. "Yes, father, I am."

"Good." Shinigami presses a cool kiss to his forehead, and Kid can't help the blush that rises to his cheeks.

Kid decides, in that moment, his father's perfectly symmetrical face is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen and thinks that: wouldn't it be nice if everything were as perfect and symmetrical as father?

From that day on, Kid is addicted.


	2. Homebound

Homebound

_Kid is missing, Shinigami realizes something. _[Shinigami, Kid, appearances from Spirit. _Not incest._]

**Author's note: **Uh, wow. It's been too long since I posted one of these…. Sorry! I just want to thank all of you who have reviewed, alerted, or favorited this. You have no idea how much that means to me! It really brightens my day! Anywho, this in unbeta-ed and horribly rushed, but it's early in the morning, and I just wanted to get something posted after all this time. Enjoy~

**013: Bubble**

As he strode through the entryway to Gallows mansion, black robes fading away in wisps of black lightning and mask peeling effortlessly from his weary face, Shinigami could not help the unease he felt coiling in the pit of his stomach.

He had no idea why he felt this way, exactly. It had been an unusually tranquil day in Death City—the manic sun's eyelids had been drooping low all day long, no rancorous individuals were stirring up trouble, and Shinigami had managed to make it home _before _his precious son's bedtime (for once). A perfect day, really, all things considered.

And yet, as he made his way into his elaborate kitchen, playful skull mask mug greeting him as he poured himself a generous amount of caffeinated liquid, he could not shake the feeling that something was horribly _wrong_.

The feeling persisted with a ferocious tenacity; even as Shinigami seated himself comfortably, taking a nice, long sip of beverage as he did so. He sat there idly for a few moments, trying (futilely) to forget everything but the warm liquid coursing through his veins.

Unsurprisingly, it did nothing to assuage the worry in Shinigami's mind.

Settling his head atop one elegantly boned hand, Shinigami sighed unhappily, eyes scanning the room lazily as he searched in vain for something else to occupy his (obviously overworked) brain with.

The slightly (imperceptible to the human eye) inclined portrait of an abstract version of his face would do quite nicely, he decided.

Auriferous orbs widening, Shinigami nearly spit out his coffee as he realized with a disconcerting urgency just what was troubling him so: Kid.

Setting his mug down calmly, Shinigami rose from his seat, slanted picture all but forgotten as he, with all the grace (and barely repressed fervor) in the world set to dash about in the mansion in a mad search for his uncharacteristically absent child.

As he flashed about the expansive mansion, grateful (not for the first time) for his enhanced speed, Shinigami wondered how he had not realized his son's rare scarcity sooner. It was a rare occasion in which Kid did not greet his father as enthusiastically as the abnormally stolid child could, and even in those instances, flickering skeletal shadows and Kid's wails always filled in the missing gaps.

"Oh, Kid, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" Shinigami mumbled irritably under his breath as he paused in his frantic searching, listening carefully for the slightest quiver of Kid's soul.

He tried to quell the rising fear within him when he sensed absolutely nothing.

Kid's soul, as his own flesh and blood, was usually the easiest for Shinigami to pinpoint amongst the sea of souls that was Death City, and the two were so in tune with one another's wavelengths that, at times, Shinigami forgot where his soul ended and Kid's began. It was a simple task for Shinigami to pause in his overwhelming paperwork load throughout the day and check up on his son. All he had to do was concentrate and sift through the numerous other souls between he and his son before the unique texture of Kid's soul (so very much like his own) separated itself from the rest, all his for the reading. It was a process that took mere seconds and comforted Shinigami is a way words could never express.

Spirit liked to poke fun at him often for his 'peeping', as Spirit liked to refer to it as, but Shinigami merely retaliated in kind, threats of reporting to Kami some of Spirit's _less than desirable _behaviors enough to clam the lecherous man right up. In his more charitable moods, Shinigami liked to remind him that, if Spirit had the capacity to do so, he would do the same for his _own _child.

That always brought a soft smile to the weapon's lips and nothing else needed to be said.

Today, Shinigami realized, had _not _been one of those days in which the all too routine conversation had taken place, and he could not help but wonder if perhaps he was becoming lax in his parental duties. Kid was usually a diligent, resourceful child that hardly needed a babysitter, much less an overprotective father and thus, Shinigami had backed off a bit, giving his tiny tot some space to himself. Nevertheless, he always made a point to check on his son at least once throughout the long work day, despite his child's protests that he was 'plenty grown-up'.

Had he even checked on him today at all?

Grounding his teeth in frustration, Shinigami expanded his searching area to the entire area of the estate, irate beyond belief when he realized _Kid was not in Gallows Mansion._

Sprinting to the nearest glass surface, Shinigami rang the Death Room hoping, almost pitifully, that his tiny son would answer. As the glass rippled, Shinigami rationalized that _of course _it made perfect sense for Kid to have run off to his office in the middle of the day. He did it often enough, and Shinigami worked late enough, that there was no reason to think Kid _wouldn't _be there. But the fear that had spread like wildfire throughout Shinigami's veins flared to violent life again, leaving him feeling unusually small and helpless.

It did not help him at all either, when Spirit's groggy face visualized before him, instead of his adorable child's angry pout.

"Spirit-kun?" Shinigami almost snapped, annoyed when his weapon did not respond to him immediately.

"Sir?" Spirit drawled out drunkenly, and Shinigami made a mental note to find every source of alcohol in Spirit's reach and _absolutely fucking destroy it._

"Is Kid there?"

Spirit blinked once, twice, before he finally gurgled, "You look _pissed_, Shinigami-sama. It's kind of," a badly timed hiccup, "kind of _awesome_."

Last traces of patience snapping, Shinigami whipped his hand through the mirror, delicate seeming fingers twisting viciously into Spirit's unbuttoned collar as he pulled him forward, banging him against the mirror as he hissed, "_Is Kid there?_"

Surprised, Spirit gulped, body going limp submissively in response to the hands that held him captive. Suddenly, the world was not the impenetrable haze it had been only moments before. Looking around rapidly, Spirit chucked in good nature, shaking his head as he eyed his master warily. "Uh, nope, he's definitely not here, sir."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

Composing himself, Shinigami released Spirit abruptly, eyes apologetic when Spirit tumbled to the floor ungracefully. "Forgive me, Spirit-kun." He reached his hand out again through the mirror, this time in kindness. "I did not mean to be so rough with you."

Taking the offered hand gratefully, Spirit let himself be hauled up effortlessly before he scoffed playfully, "'Sokay. Something's obviously gone and went up your ass and pissed the hell out of you, so I won't take it personally." He grinned. "What's the little tyke done now?"

Ignoring his weapon's inquiry, Shinigami eyed him up and down before turning swiftly on his heel, preparing to cut the call short. "Spirit-kun," he enunciated slowly, letting the sweet syrupy feel of his voice lull Spirit into a false sense of security.

"Yes, boss?"

Smiling as vividly as he could, Shinigami turned his head in the direction of his bumbling weapon once more, golden-liquid depths a blazing claret as he chided in mock coyness, "You really _should _lay off the beer when you're on the clock, don't you think?"

Not giving Spirit the chance to reply, Shinigami cut the connection between the two of them, stalking away toward the front door as he resumed the search for his child once more.

He would apologize to Spirit in the morning.

Out in the bustling streets of Death City, mask and robes in place, Shinigami felt much more at peace, carefully scanning the area as his son's recently pinpointed soul quivered and bubbled.

If Shinigami did not know any better, he might have said his son was laughing.

But Kid was Kid and as such did not _laugh_. Not unless Shinigami was there with him. Kid never showed _any _emotion unless his father was around.

Some would, perhaps, be concerned by this. But given their connection, Shinigami knew well enough to know that Kid simply preferred to keep to himself, as he and other children his age went about as good together as cookies did with _tar._ Definitely not a pleasant combination. The incident at preschool had been _more _than enough proof of that.

Perhaps that made Kid anti-social or underdeveloped or whatever other drivel humans liked to spout in attempts to justify disturbed souls, Shinigami did not know. It would never the change the fact that, in his eyes, Kid was the most perfect thing in the world.

And it was not _jealously _he felt, necessarily, at the thought that someone else was making his child laugh and smile in a way only he had known how to do because really, as long as Kid was happy, that was all that mattered. It was just strange, really. He had not expected to have to share his irresistibly cute son so soon, that was all.

Sighing beneath his mask, Shinigami wondered miserably what he his tiny son was laughing (without him) about.

If this was what growing up would be like for the young death god (so out of tune and unconnected), Shinigami _knew _he was not going to enjoy it. Not one bit.

(The familiar confines of Death City one day, unforeseen cities with unforeseen strangers and unforeseen dangers the next.)

Gritting his fanged teeth sullenly, Shinigami, so as to not cause alarm, slipped into the nearest glass surface, making his way to far-off son as fast as he possibly could.

Giggling in pure delight, Kid spun himself about, twisting this way and that, watching in fascination the current object of his obsession as they danced about him contentedly, just out of reach.

Smiling in complete contentment, Kid spiraled around once more, preparing to reach for the object of his delight before a massive black shadow blocked all passage.

Not even pausing to consider the situation, Kid knew _immediately_ who the imposing figure before him was—looming and unmerciful—and, more importantly, realized what _trouble _he was in.

"Father," Kid breathed in one swoosh of air, plopping to the ground crudely as his amusement came to an untimely end, "what are you doing here?"

His question went unanswered, however, the giant black mass that was his father unmoving for several moments before he whispered, "Where are they?"

"They?" Kid furrowed his brow in confusion, glancing about the area worriedly as his father's anger spiked to the point of tangibility and Kid wondered just what force had managed to slip by his defenses undetected. "Father, is there something—"

"You are alone, then?" Shinigami cut him off, anger quickly ebbing at his son's curt nod. "Well, then…" he muttered, deflated. Perhaps he would apologize to Spirit upon his return home…

"Father," Kid interrupted his musing, "is something the matter?"

Startled, Shinigami fumbled for a response before dumbly stating, "You were laughing."

Sporting an aristocratic arch in his eyebrow, Kid rose to his feet, arms crossed. "You were that angry over something so small? That is unlike you, Father," he sniffed the air almost haughtily, clearly displeased as he accused, "My happiness upset you, then?"

"Uh, no, not exactly," Shinigami flaked, feeling a bit ruffled at the fact that_ he _was the one being scolded. "Anyway," he assumed control of the situation, jaunty mask's eyes wrinkling in anger, "just what are you doing out here, Kid? And without my permission?"

"What are you talking about, Father, I'm right out—oh."

"Oh?"

Cheeks heating rapidly, Kid quickly inclined his head downwards, refusing to meet his father's abysmal gaze when he kneeled before him patiently, previous anger dissipated.

"I—I apologize, Father. I did not realize that I was—"

"Near the borders of the city?" The words _of my soul_ hung in the air between them, Kid just as aware of it as his father.

Nodding minutely, Kid met his father's eyes determinedly, voice gruff with embarrassment as he explained, "I was following it."

"It?" Shinigami repeated bemusedly, eyes surveying the grassy knoll once more as he reaffirmed the absence of any life. Just what could his son be referring to? Perhaps he really _should _consider the words of that uptight school counselor, after all. Maybe Kid really was—

"It's right there, Father," Kid pointed simply, joy returning gradually as he stared in wonder at the surreal object getting further and further out of his reach.

"A bubble?" Shinigami questioned before smiling mirthfully beneath his mask, once more undone by the cuteness that was his child.

"Is that what it's called?" Kid asked enthusiastically, climbing upon his father's broad shoulders without invitation as he reached out to it futilely.

"Yes, Kid. That's a bubble," Shinigami reconfirmed, amusement sneaking into his tone as he stood to his full height, disproportionate foam-like hands gripping his son's tiny feet firmly.

"It's beautiful, Father." Hugging his father's masked head tightly and setting his chin upon it innocently, Kid asked him quizzically, "How is it made, Father? Just _what _it is, exactly?"

"It's," Shinigami paused mid-answer, smiling unabashedly under his mask as he confidently declared, "it's magic, Kid."

"Really?" Kid laid his cheek upon the cool fabric of his father's cloak in barely concealed wonderment. "Amazing. It's so small, Father. But it traveled so far and so high. How could such a small, fragile thing endure so much?"

Shinigami's ridiculous cartoony hand found his son's tiny own, and Shinigami spoke almost wistfully as he answered, "Don't be so quick to judge the character of something based on mere size alone, Kid." He fingered his son's tiny hand meaningfully. "Sometimes it's the smallest, most delicate things that can achieve the greatest heights, Kid-kun. Just because you're physically small doesn't mean your _goals _have to be as small, nor your soul." He hoisted Kid into the air and off his shoulders, cradling him close as he brought him down to rest against his chest.

"Will I be able to go high someday too, Father?" Kid whispered apprehensively, flinching none too lightly when he saw the small gossamer sphere pop as it attempted to rise just above the invisible barrier of his father's soul.

Embrace tightening in response to his son's soul's sharp flux, Shinigami removed his mask, golden eyes shining softly and long hair enveloping them both as he whispered, "Higher, my son. You'll go higher and farther and any other soul—or bubble—could ever hope to soar."

Kid narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. "Even higher than _you_, Father?"

Eyes widening in surprise, Shinigami leaned his cheek against his son's own, shielding him from the forlorn hopelessness that whirled across his unmasked face. "Far higher, my son," he assured him, hugging him impossibly close, as though he were afraid he'd float away right after that bubble.

(He wasn't ready to let go. Not now. Not yet. Not ever.)

Smiling with new-found confidence, Kid pushed his father away slightly, so that he could cup his father's face with his painfully miniscule fingers (so small and so frail in comparison with his father's long, diaphanous ones), meeting his father's pained gaze without fear.

"Don't worry, Father," he admonished, smile wide and bright as he stroked his father's flawless face fondly, "I won't 'pop' and disappear forever. I'll _always _come back. I'll _always _come home."

Shinigami remained silent, absorbing his tiny son's words as he spoke with such authority, such confidence, such _certainty_, that Shinigami could feel the hesitation and the doubt fizzle away from his mind completely.

Managing a small smirk, Shinigami shook his head. "I can't, for the life of me, imagine _why_," he quipped humorlessly. "The world's a big place, Kid. Once I let you out in it, how do I know you'll ever want to come back?"

Moving to look deep in thought, Shinigami suppressed a chuckle at his child's oh so serious look—eyes closed and crinkled in concentration, lips pressed tight, and head bobbing back and forth as though weighing two heady choices—Kid stopped to formulate a proper response before he inquired in complete seriousness, "Is the entire world as symmetrical as home is, Father?"

Letting out a booming chuckle, Shinigami shook his head, smile wide as he lamented, "I'm afraid not, Kid-kun~ The world is quite a chaotic place, you know~"

"Ugh," Kid spat distastefully, smiling ever so slightly as he met his father's mirthful gaze.

"I don't know, Kid, chaos and order have their place and--"

"_Please_, not one of _those _lectures, Father!" Kid pleaded, amused by his father's indignant look for being interrupted. "I'll always come back, Father," he vowed, smiling so warmly that it made Shinigami's heart melt just at the sight of it.

"Because it's so symmetrical?"

"Well, there's that."

"There's more?"

"Of course, Father!" He looked at him simply, "There's you."

Blinking, Shinigami was unprepared for the fierce headlock his son put him in as he hugged his neck tightly.

"And that's all the home I'll ever need."

As his son settled into his overly spacious bed, Shinigami could not keep the beaming smile off his face.

His son was just too cute for words.

Slipping the last button on his plain black pajama top into place, Shinigami padded over to his bed, leaning on one knee so that he could press a chaste kiss to the center of his son's forehead (right in the middle, where he liked it). Kid smiled up at him adoringly, laughing as his father withdrew, nimble fingers dancing his side teasingly as he found his son's ticklish sides.

"Father! No tickling! Come on! It's—" He laughed uncontrollably, flailing to and fro as his father tortured his side without mercy.

Retreating from his son's adamant retaliation, Shinigami smiled beautifully, "Now, now, Kid-kun~ It's time for bed~"

"But, Father—"

"Nope!" Shinigami clapped his hands together merrily. "You get some sleep because tomorrow you and I are taking a special trip."

Kid arched an eyebrow quizzically. "A trip?"

Shinigami nodded ecstatically. "Yep! A trip~"

"What are we doing?"

"Bubbles," Shinigami supplied cheerfully, slipping from the room prudently as his son unleashed a full death glare on him.

"But, Father, I don't know the magic to!"

Giggling behind his hand, Shinigami leaned against the wall next to his door jovially. "Then you'll just have to learn, won't you?" Shinigami glided away blithely, leaving his child's protests and tantrums unattended.

He would be asleep before long, anyway.

Stepping into the massive mirror that connected directly to his office, Shinigami smiled triumphantly when he saw Spirit sprawled out on the floor, undoubtedly waiting for the death god's return so that he could attempt to beg for forgiveness. Giving him a swift kick, Shinigami wasted no time as Spirit shot up in alarm and regained his bearing before demanding, "Spirit-kun, I need a favor."

"A favor? Like what?" Spirit questioned, much more aware than he had been. He was getting much better at dealing with hangovers, it seemed.

"Bubbles."

"Bubbles?"

"I need the supplies to make bubbles. You have them, I presume?"

"Yeah…Of course!" Spirit gave him a strange look. "Why in the world do you need _those_?"

"Spirit-kun," Shinigami gave him an all too sweet smile that made Spirit tremble. Nothing good _ever _came from those smiles.

"Of course, sir! Anything to make up for today!" Dashing off before Shinigami could say another word, the death scythe was off the floor, out the door, and gone in the blink of an eye.

"Now if only he were that proficient _all _the time," Shinigami muttered before chuckling, feeling slightly guilty at jerking his weapon around in such a manner.

He really _should _apologize to Spirit in the morning.


End file.
